Opening Doors
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Sam and Dean travel back in time while chasing a demon and run into some very familiar faces. It's a kiddie story with a twist!
1. Chapter 1

Ah, yes, welcome to another of Mummyluvr's stories! I'm your author, Mummyluvr, and would just like to remind you that I don't own "Supernatural" or any of its characters. Also, reviews keep me writing and posting, so don't be shy!

**Title:** Opening Doors

**Summary:** Sam and Dean head back in time to 1989 and run into some very familiar faces. It's a kiddie story with a surprising twist!

**Disclaimer:** Like I said before, SN isn't mine, and neither are any of its characters!

**

* * *

Opening Doors**

Ten-year-old Dean Winchester ran, his brother's hand held tightly in his own. They'd only gone out for a little while. He'd just thought it would be good to leave the cramped motel room, to get away from everything they'd become. He'd been restless. He was smart enough to take Sammy along with him this time, though. Now they were both in trouble.

The arcade. He loved going to the arcade, but the last time he'd gone, almost a year ago…

That was why he'd taken Sam along, but now they were in trouble and no one was there to save them.

The demon was quickly gaining, running fast, its dark cloak billowing around it. It had swooped down upon them for no apparent reason and the chase had begun. Dean knew that if he could only make it back to the motel room, only grab the shotgun by the door, only turn and aim and pull the trigger, the demon would be gone. But they didn't have the time, the room was too far away. They would never make it.

They were going to die, and both brothers knew it.

Suddenly, from behind them, they heard a grunt. Sam was pulled from Dean's grip and he turned, ready to show the demon what happened when you messed with a Winchester. Instead, he found himself staring into deep hazel eyes.

"It's all right," a tall man with sandy blond hair said hurriedly, grabbing Dean's hand. He had scooped Sammy up in his arms. "We're friends of your dad's. We're going to help. Which way's the motel?"

Dean pointed him in the right direction and they took off at a fast run. The little boy looked back over his shoulder once to see another man, one with shaggy brown hair, wrestling with the demon that had been chasing them. The man pulled out a knife and stabbed it.

Then they were at the motel and he had the key pulled out, ready to use. He looked back once more as the demon dissolved in a puff of black smoke and the other man came running over.

"Got it," he panted, wiping dark blood from his hands.

"No," the shorter of the two, the one that had pulled the boys to safety, replied, "you didn't. It was a decoy. That thing's still out there."

"Who are you?" Dean questioned as the two men stumbled into the room he'd been sharing with his brother for almost a week.

The shorter man grinned, running his fingers roughly through his short hair. "We know your dad. That's all that matters."

"We need names," Sammy said, gazing at them with suspicious eyes.

The two men glanced nervously at each other. "All right," the shorter one, apparently the leader, nodded, "I'm Dean, and this is my geek brother, Sam."

Topeka, Kansas

Earlier That Day

Dean Winchester stretched and yawned. It had been a hard week for the 27-year-old. Not only had the demon they'd been chasing for over twenty years gone back into hiding, he'd sent a new friend out for the brothers to play with. His name was Jake, and he was rather bland. Certainly not as much fun as Meg had been.

He and Sam had been able to track the thing to Topeka, where his trail had suddenly grown cold. He was probably just waiting for a good chance to attack them. Not a problem. They'd be ready.

Sammy had left, probably for coffee, earlier that morning. That was OK. Dean needed a good pick-me-up, and caffeine was always his first choice. He needed to be alert to find out what Jake was up to. As he'd told his brother just the day before, demons don't just go missing, they go _think_. Jakey was up to something.

The motel room door opened and Sam walked in, sure enough carrying two cups of coffee. He didn't look happy about something.

"I just got a call from one of dad's contacts this morning," he said, setting the cups down on the dresser and sitting on the room's other bed.

"Oh yeah? What's up?"

"A slip-up in the time stream," Sam replied, sighing.

"And that's bad?"

"This particular person seems to think so. Especially after I told her about Jake. The slip happened here, Dean, in Topeka."

"So what's it mean?" Dean asked, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

"Someone's trying out the idea of time travel. It could be disastrous."

"When is anything we're involved with _not _disastrous? And why'd she call us? It's not like there's anything we can do about it."

Sam shook his head. "There is. A wormhole's been opened in the time stream. Only a major demonic power could have done that. If she's right, then Jake may have gone into the past. He could bring the demon to power, Dean."

"Or worse. He could kill us."

"He could make sure mom and dad never even met. We could never exist."

"Let me guess," Dean moaned, "this contact wants us to find the wormhole, go back in time, and fix whatever Jake's about to do before he does it?"

Sammy nodded. "Pretty much."

"Do we even know when we're going?"

"She was kind of hoping we could head out today, before anything happens."

Dean shook his head, accepting defeat and climbing out of the bed to grab his coffee and clothes. "I meant which time period? We're not going to get zapped back to the stone age, are we?"

"As far as I gather, the wormhole will go to the same time Jake went to, but we need to find it before it closes."

"What if it closes while we're in the past?"

"We'll get back here eventually."

"In our sixties?" Dean asked, though it wasn't much of a joke, "does she know where it is?"

"Somewhere in the courthouse," Sam replied, "but that's as specific as it gets."

Dean sighed, pulling on a tattered pair of jeans. "Great. When do we leave?"

* * *

Like what you see? Why not tell me all about it? 


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Awesome response to this one. Ch. 2 is short, and I'm sorry about that, especially since I'm going camping this weekend adn won't be able to update until Sunday or Monday!

* * *

The county courthouse was a bit larger than the brothers had expected, and they'd had to split up just to be able to search it all, neither really knowing what he was looking for. While Sam talked to some locals who apparently spent their days hanging out in the old building, Dean inspected a replica of the gallows used in the town before someone had put a stop to the hangings.

He walked up to the plaque mounted by the exhibit that explained the history of the noose and trapdoor that had taken so many lives. He stooped to run his fingers over the gleaming metal surface and found himself unpleasantly surprised when his hand went right through the seemingly solid slab.

"Uh, Sammy," he beckoned, turning to his brother, "come over here a minute."

Sam bid his new friends farewell and trudged over to where his brother was standing, gazing at the plaque with mild interest. "This had better be important, Dean," the younger grumbled, "because those guys back there saw Jake hanging around a couple days ago."

"Watch," Dean said, pulling a quarter from his pocket and dropping it onto the plaque. It disappeared, leaving a small ripple like a stone dropped in a pond.

"Is that-?"

The elder nodded. "I think it is. What do you want to do about it?"

"Jump in?" Sam shrugged. His brother sighed. It wasn't the best idea in the world, especially since they weren't sure they'd found the right wormhole, if that was even what it was.

"We don't have much of a choice, do we?" Dean asked, bending down and poking the metal slab with his index finger, "so, who's going first?"

They looked at each other, each daring the other to take the plunge first. Finally, Sam pushed past his brother and stuck a hand into the plaque. He turned to look at Dean, who just nodded, before sliding through head-first.

Dean waited a couple of minutes, glancing around the room to make sure that the only witnesses were otherwise occupied, before jumping in.

He was immediately met with a blast of frigid air and a bought of nausea so strong he almost hurled. Then he was only aware of a feeling of freefalling and a sudden impact with something soft that squirmed uncomfortably under his weight.

The hunter glanced at what he had fallen on and found his brother struggling to push himself up.

"Sorry, Sammy," he muttered, sliding off his brother and holding out a hand to help him up. He looked around, taking in his new surroundings, and found that they were right back where they'd started. The courthouse. "Nothing changed."

"You sure?" Sam asked, brushing himself off and pointing to the gallows exhibit. It had been covered by a blue cloth so that only the plaque was visible. A sign hung on the metal, announcing the grand unveiling of the exhibit, which would take place on May 7, 1989.

"We went back in time seventeen years?" Dean asked, his wide eyes searching his brother's face for any indication that it was a bad joke. Sam just nodded.

"Yeah. Let's start looking for Jake."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it's taken so long for another update, but ehre it is. Chapter three, where things really start to pick up :) Enjoy!

* * *

"I give up," Dean sighed, plopping down in a grassy spot behind a tree in the park. Sam just turned to look at him, skeptical. He'd never known his brother to give up like that. 

"No you don't." He argued, "we've gotta keep looking if we ever want to find him."

"But we've been at it all day and we still haven't caught him. And who's to say he hasn't already done what he'd planned to do and left? We can't just stay here, Sam, either we find him, or we assume he's already finished his job."

"I don't think he has." The younger pointed between a gap in the trees and his brother followed his gaze. A young man in a black cloak was running across the street near where they had stopped to rest. "The guys I talked to this morning said he'd been wearing a long coat last time they saw him. That's him. We found him."

"Yeah, but what's he doing?" Dean asked as Jake stopped behind a dumpster and crouched down, peeking momentarily out into the street.

"Looks like he's waiting," Sam commented, "but for who?"

His question was answered as two small shadows stretched over the darkening street and footsteps echoed off the buildings. The brothers watched as two young boys, no older than six and ten, walked into view. Jake, apparently, saw them, too, and stood up behind the dumpster, ready to pounce.

"Hey, Sam," Dean whispered, finally getting a good look at the kids as he wondered what Jake would want with them, "you recognize those boys?"

Sammy squinted in the poor light thrown by the streetlamps, "yeah, now that you mention it. They're us."

The two brothers watched as the young boys crossed the street and Jake pounced, grabbing on to the back of the littlest one's jacket and only succeeding in ripping it off, which alerted the kids to his presence. They broke out into a run.

"Come on," Dean hissed, grabbing the front of his brother's shirt and pulling the taller man through the grass and sparse trees, keeping up with the kids as they fled their pursuer. "Please tell me you brought along some kind of protection."

Sam searched his pockets, but found nothing that could be used to help the kids, who were now visibly tiring.

"We need to save them," Dean mumbled, pulling a pocket knife from his jacket and thrusting it into his brother's hand, "I'll grab the kids, you take Jake."

Sam nodded, watching as his brother broke their cover and ran into the street, scooping the smallest boy up into his arms and talking quickly to the other. Sam took that as his cue and leapt from the shadows onto the demon's back as Dean and the kids broke into a sprint down the street, apparently heading to whatever motel room their father had left them in.

Jake struggled, trying to get the upper hand, but in the end, Sam had the advantage. His adversary was tired from running after the kids and Sammy was easily able to plunge the small knife deep into his black heart. The demon exploded as he rolled away, gaining his feet and following his brother.

"Got it," he panted, reaching the other man at the door of a motel room.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, "you didn't. It was a decoy. That thing's still out there."

The oldest of the two kids opened the door and the small group stumbled in. "Who are you?" the kid questioned, turning on them with suspicion in his eyes. Sam noticed that he was standing protectively in front of the younger child.

"We know your dad," Dean smiled, running a hand through his hair and hoping that he really was as stupid as Sam always told him he was, "that's all that matters."

"We need names," the shorter kid said defiantly, stepping out from behind his brother, who held out a hand to stop him from getting any closer to the two strangers.

Dean glanced at his brother. If there was one thing his father had taught them about time travel, it was that changing the past, even revealing a seemingly useless little bit of information, could have dire consequences later on.

But the kid just wanted names, and what harm could names do?

"All right. I'm Dean, and this is my geek brother, Sam."

"Weird," the little kid whispered, "those are our names."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "your dad told us. Funny how that works, huh?" He glared at his brother.

"How are we sure you _really_ know our father," the elder asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," Dean smiled, "let's see. He left you in charge while he went after a particularly nasty ghoul, right? And the codeword this time is, uh, djinn."

"You're right," the kid nodded, taking a cautious step away from the shotgun propped up by the door, "but why would he send you out here for us?"

"He thought something might be after you," Sam offered, taking a seat in the room's small kitchenette, "and it looks like he was right."

"That was Jake you just met," Dean added, ruffling the oldest boy's hair and joining his brother at the table, "he's been possessed and we came to stop him. We think he wants to kill you."

"Why would he want to do that?" the youngest boy asked, coming to sit with them, his trust already gained. The other boy's, however, would be harder to attain.

"Because he's a bad guy," Dean shrugged, looking over at his younger self and flashing a comforting smile, "now, I can understand you being a little weary of us, kiddo, but you can't stand by that door all night."

The boy didn't move, just stared at them, his eyes suspicious. "Do you know how to kill it?"

"We can exorcise it," Sam nodded, "make sure it can't hurt you again, yeah, but we're gonna need to find it first." He turned to his brother, "did you say it was a decoy?"

Dean nodded. "Remember Meg? The chick fell out of a seventh story window and survived. You stab this guy with a pocket knife and he dies? He was just testing the water. Figured he'd send a clone out to kill u- _them_. We still need to find the real demon."

"Can we help?" the littlest kid asked, his eyelids dropping, even in the midst of the excitement.

"Maybe," Sam said, "if it's absolutely necessary. But we still need to find him."

"And you two need to get to bed," Dean smiled, scooping the small boy up in his arms and carrying him toward the bedroom, "it's almost midnight. That means you, too, Dean."

Reluctantly, the elder of the two boys trudged into the bedroom as Sam laid his head in his hands and tried to think.

"Listen," Dean began as the kid walked into the room, "I know you think that you're the man of the house when your dad leaves like this, but now we're here and you're following our rules. So," he reached his hand under a pillow on one of the beds, "since I don't trust mistrustful little boys with knives under their pillows, I'll be taking this." He pulled out the hidden knife.

He almost laughed at the surprised look on his young face, and a fleeting thought (_Missouri _did_ say I was a goofy looking kid_) running though his head as he stuck the weapon into his pocket and tucked his little brother in.

"How'd you know about that?"

"Let's just say," Dean smiled as he watched himself climb into bed and pull the covers up to his chin, "I've been there."

He turned to leave the room, walking slowly up to the door and turning off the lights. "Good night, guys. Sleep tight."

"Wait," a little voice piped up in the darkness, "I want a story first."

Dean sighed and turned around to find Sammy's little head poking up from under the heap of blankets, a small pout on his face. "Well," he asked, flipping the lights back on and sitting on the foot of the young boy's bed, " what kind of story? A true story, or a happy story?"

"A true story," a different voice answered. The hunter turned to face himself, sitting up in bed with a strangely determined look on his young face.

"All right," he muttered, thinking, "once upon a time, there was a very happy family. There was a mommy, and a daddy, and a little boy, and a baby. One day, there was a bad fire at their house, and the mommy couldn't get out in time because she was trying to protect her little baby boy. The happy family changed after that, but the oldest boy promised himself that, if nothing else, he would keep them together. And he did, for 18 years. But then his little brother left, and his dad followed four years later. But this boy was smart, and he got his brother to come back and stay with him. And then something bad happened, and they decided to stay together a little bit longer.

"After a while, they decided to go back to the house that had burnt down, the one where their mom had died. When they were there, they found their mom, just waiting for them, wanting to protect them, even after death. And she was so proud of her youngest son," he smiled, ruffling Sammy's hair, "and she told him that she was sorry for not being there for him, and that she loved him very much."

"What about the oldest?"

Dean looked at the boy, staring into his own hazel eyes, ones that told him they already knew the answer. "Well," he muttered, after a pause, "it's getting late. You guys really do need to get to sleep, all right?" He slid off the bed and walked from the room, flipping off the lights and closing the door.

"I thought," Sam muttered as Dean entered the kitchenette and sat down, "that dad told us changing the past could change the future."

"It was just a story. It's not like they'll remember it."

"Until it actually happens. We need to be careful, Dean, one false move and we could ruin the rest of our lives. And they're already bad enough."

Dean sighed, running a slightly unsteady hand through his hair, and nodded. "Yeah, I guess. What are we gonna do about this?"

"Kill the demon."

"I wish it was that easy. We've gotta find him, catch him, keep him away from ourselves-"

"And deal with the kids. And how do we manage it without any weapons or a car?"

Dean shrugged. "There are weapons. And I know where they are. Or, little me does, anyway. We just have to get him to tell us where they're hidden."

"That should be easy, seeing as how you're a very trusting kid."

"I can talk to him," Dean said, an idea suddenly forming in his mind, a thought hitting him so hard he almost fell out of his chair, "maybe earn his trust. Just give me some time alone with the kid tomorrow."

Sam just nodded and sighed, staring down at the table as his brother formulated his plan. It was forbidden, and he knew that, but Sammy had been right. Their lives had been horrible when they were kids, and if he could make a few small changes, ones that would be so insignificant that it wouldn't matter one way or the other what happened, maybe he could fix it. Maybe he could make things right.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, guys, thanks for all the reviews. Now I guess it's time to see if Dean's plan (whatever it may be) works. Can you really save yourself from your past? And what's gonna happen when Sam and his younger self are left alone together? I guess that you, faithful readers, are about to find out :)

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" Dean smiled, yanking the covers off the freckled ten-year-old's bed, "we've got a big day ahead of us."

The boy rolled over, moaning. His eyes snapped opened as they caught sight of the empty bed beside him, however. "Where's Sam?" he demanded, the sharp tone in his voice unnerving the adult a little.

"Relax, kid. Your Sam and mine went to grab some breakfast. Not sure if you know it, but you guys are almost out of food."

"I want to see him." His eyes were sharp, piercing, accusing. Dean recognized his own brand of hidden panic.

"Well, he's not here right now. You know, these trust issues of yours are getting kind of annoying. How are you ever gonna make any friends?"

The boy smiled, a familiar smirk, the panic slowly fading from his eyes to be replaced by something else. Something like forbidden knowledge. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I'll grow out of it. I mean, _you_ seem pretty trusting."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The knowledge was definitely there, the smirk threatening superiority, the eyes shining. "I'm not stupid, Dean. I know who you really are."

The older hunter's heart skipped a beat. "And who might that be?"

"You're me." He stated it as a simple fact, satisfaction written plainly on his face. He'd figured it out all on his own, and he was very proud of that.

Dean just smiled. "That's not possible, kid."

"I don't know how it happened, how you got here," the young boy said, the confidence in his voice never faltering, "but I'm right. Why else would you save us? How else could you know how I feel about my family? And the names, that was a dead giveaway. Like I said, I'm not stupid. I can pick up on subtle signs."

The older man sighed, sitting at the foot of the kid's unkempt bed. "Man, I really am smarter than everyone thinks."

"So, I'm right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "you're right. And I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but what harm could it really do in the long run? Seventeen years from now, my brother and I found a wormhole, a kind of slip-up in the time stream. We followed the guy that attacked you through it. We wound up here."

"That guy you're with, your brother? That's Sammy?" The elder just nodded, a little surprised at the way his younger self seemed to be handling things. "Man, he got _tall."_

"Sure did. Enjoy your height advantage, kid, because when he hits puberty you'll have to step down. Now, you have to promise me that you won't tell Sam about this. We kind of had an agreement to try and _not_ change the past. It can seriously mess up our present."

The boy nodded, a large smile plastered across his young face. Excitement shone brightly in his haunted eyes. "I promise. Don't worry, dad's already told me about the consequences of time travel. As soon as you guys leave, I swear I'll try to forget you. So, how's the day gonna go? You said you had something big planned." He was practically bouncing up and down where he sat.

"Actually," Dean grinned sheepishly, "I was just going to try and earn your trust before asking about the weapons."

"Trust gained," the kid grinned, his face shining with glee, "and I'll tell you where everything is, rock salt and all, if you'll just give me that knife back."

The more experienced hunter smirked. "Deal. But, uh, let's not tell Sam where they are until later, OK. He'll think it's weird if I broke through my concrete defenses in the fifteen minutes he was gone."

The little boy nodded. "Deal. So what are we gonna do?"

"Well, there's a park not too far from here. I figured we could just hang out. What do you think?"

The kid smiled. "Anything to get out of this room."

"Cabin Fever?"

"For the past five years, yeah."

* * *

The door to the motel room opened slowly and Sam walked in, the little boy tagging along behind him, a large box of donuts held in his hands. A note was lying in the middle of the small circular table in the kitchenette, and he set the box down beside it before picking it up and skimming over it. 

"Looks like we got back too late," he muttered, looking at the untidy mop of brown hair that stuck up from the couch, where his younger self had gone to watch TV, "they went to the park to talk about something. More for us."

"I'm not hungry," the kid muttered, his small voice barely audible over whatever cartoon he was watching on the TV.

"Well," Sam sighed, "I guess we've got some time to waste before they come back. Anything you want to do?" He walked around the couch to sit beside the kid, who was busy coloring on some old scraps of brown paper towels. "Whatcha drawing?"

The little boy shrugged, the crayon barely moving, as the adult inspected the art. It was a picture of a family, a woman, a man, and two boys. The smaller boy was standing between his parents, but the taller of the two was off to the side, a large frown on his face.

"That's a nice picture, Sammy, what's it of?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged again, "a family, I guess."

"Oh." He sat back on the couch, folding his arms in front of his chest and wondering how much progress his brother was making on finding the location of anything that could be useful to them if Jake decided to show up again. He still didn't believe that slowly befriending the little hunter would work in the long run, actually thought it would be easier to just ask the kid where the weapons were hidden, but-

"He's not as stupid as you think he is," the boy said, turning to look up at him.

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Dean. He figured it out before I did, and I've been figuring a lot of stuff out lately. _And_ he fooled you, too."

"What did he figure out? What are you talking about?"

"He knows who you really are. You and your brother. You're me, right?"

Sam grinned. "That's impossible, kiddo, you should know that." Something was off, the kid had said he'd been fooled. What was his brother not telling him?

"No, it's possible. I don't know how, and neither does Dean, which is weird, 'cause I thought he knew everything. But he was still right, and you're me, all grown up."

The older hunter sighed. If he told the kid the truth, he would risk doing even more damage to the past, and consequently, the future. But the boy seemed sure of himself, and-

"I promise I'll try to forget when you leave, if that's what you're worried about. At least, that's what Dean's gonna do."

"He told you that?" Sam asked.

"No. I just know. Sometimes, I just know things. A lot, lately. Do you know things, too, or is it just me?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, "I know things sometimes, too. And you're right. Your brother's right. There was a wormhole, about seventeen years from now-"

"And you followed the guy that attacked us through it," the boy nodded, "and then you saved us from him."

"That's right," Sam marveled, starting to feel a little unnerved. It was almost as if the boy could read minds, but wouldn't that mean…

"That's cool."

"You said something about Dean earlier? About him fooling me? What did he do, Sam? How'd he fool me?"

"Oh, well," the kid began, looking back to the pictures with renewed interest, "he has a plan. He's gonna take care of himself because no one else will, and both of him know it."

* * *

"So, they left? Dad and Sam, and they didn't even care?" 

"They had bigger things to worry about, all right, there's nothing you could do to stop it," Dean said, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder as they sat on the swings in the park, "it wasn't your fault. Sam just needed to get away and dad finally got a lock on the thing that killed mom. It had nothing to do with you. They really care about you."

"Yeah, that's what you tell yourself, but I know you don't believe it because I don't believe it. And mom? She just passed on by? Like you weren't even there?"

"In her defense, Sammy'd never met her."

"In her defense. What about _my_ defense? I mean, does it ever feel to you like you're all alone in the world and nobody cares? Like you're just a soldier, or a bodyguard, not even a person? Like the only way you can get people to stick around is to manipulate them, destroy their dreams, keep them down to keep them around?"

Dean sighed, glancing down at the ground. His brother had told him not long ago that he would leave once the demon was gone. The connection had been made in the older hunter's mind and he had done something about it. Not sabotage, but something close. Just to keep him around.

"Yeah. All the time. Guilt-trip them."

The boy nodded. "So, what are we going to tell them when we get back?"

"That depends. You want to do something like this again? If I tell him you didn't talk we can sneak out tomorrow and maybe see a movie or something. If I tell him where everything is, we'll just wait for Jake to attack again. What do you want?"

"I haven't seen a movie in the theatres in years. Let's lie."

Dean nodded. "Lying it is. Let's get back to the room. They'll be worried about us."

"Yeah, right," the kid muttered, jumping off the swing and brushing off the seat of his pants, "like he really cares."

"Come on, you know your brother loves you."

"Sure, but for how long?"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Well, Dean's got a plan, but I ahve an inkling that Sam knows about it now. Oh, the conflict!

* * *

_Disturbing little thing,_ Sam thought to himself, catching a quick, confused glance from the little boy who was now engrossed in the TV show he was watching. He shuddered. The kid was starting to creep him out. The conversation had dropped off after the boy's almost nonsensical comment, and hadn't resumed. To tell the truth, Sam was kind of happy about that.

The door opened, and Dean and his ten-year-old counterpart walked into the room, neither talking. Sam looked at his brother, glaring, and was a little taken aback when the older man shrugged and reported that he'd gotten nothing out of the kid.

The younger hunter narrowed his eyes and grabbed the older man's shirtsleeve, pulling him out of the room. "We need to talk. _Now_."

"What is it this time?" Dean sighed, leaning up against the side of the motel as his brother slammed the door shut.

"Did you just lie to me?"

"No. I swear, that kid's like Fort Knox. I actually think he might be inside _re_hiding some things."

"You're lying to me, Dean."

Dean just shook his head. "You sound so sure of yourself. What makes you think I'm not telling the truth?"

"Oh, I don't know, the fact that little me seems to be able to read minds, for one. From what I hear, you just got stupider as the years went by, because if some old guy wearing ripped-up jeans and a leather jacket appeared at our doorstep tomorrow and told us his name was Dean Winchester and he had traveled through time to warn us of the coming apocalypse, you would just scratch your head and ask him what he was talking about."

Dean scratched his head. "What are _you_ talking about?"

Sam sighed. "The kid figured it out. You figured it out. Not all of it, but enough to know who we really are. Somehow, I picked up on it, too. Had a very interesting conversation with myself today."

"You know, Sam, talking to yourself isn't a good thing."

"I'm serious, Dean. What did you tell the kid?"

The hunter shrugged. "He figured it out, man, what was I supposed to tell him?"

"How much?"

"Everything," Dean hung his head, eager to avoid his brother's death-glare, "I told him everything, from women in white to demonic semi attacks and beyond. He knows it all."

Sam actually smiled. He was too mad to do much else, but just let the information sink in. "And how did he take it?"

"Surprisingly well."

"Dean, that's going to screw up the whole damn timeline. We'll be lucky if we get back to our present without any tattoos or piercings! What were you thinking?"

"Simple," he replied softly, a small smile playing at his lips as his eyes shone with an almost diabolical glimmer, "we change things. You really think I'm gonna drag you away from your perfect life if I know your girlfriend's gonna burn on the ceiling? No, I'll take her with us."

"Will you let me have my perfect life? Or will you handcuff me to your car?"

Dean shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? No more researching, no more mistakes. We can change things, _truly_ change things. What can it hurt?"

"Everything," Sam sighed, unable to believe what he was hearing. Their father had practically drilled the rules of time travel into them since they'd been old enough to understand what he was saying.

"You know," Dean muttered, drawing Sam out of his thoughts, "we had a pretty crappy childhood, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"What if someone came along and told you that the rest of your life would pretty much be the same? Would you try to change it?"

"I would, but-"

"What if the person that told you everything about your miserable little life decided that he was going to take it upon himself to try and give you something you'd always wanted?"

"Dean, listen-"

"No, you listen, because I've got a point here. As long as we're here, let's just drop the hunter-thing, huh? We know what Jake is, and we know how to stop him. Why not let the kids be kids?"

"Because we're not supposed to be kids, Dean, we're supposed to be hunters."

"You know what I found out today? I haven't really been out of a motel room without fear for a year. Maybe even longer. I actually looked at myself last night, and you know what I saw?"

"A really goofy-looking kid?"

Dean smiled so briefly Sam thought he might have just imagined it happening. "No, I saw a ten-year-old who has spent the last six years of his life raising his kid brother who's just gonna end up leaving him anyway. I saw a brand of mistrust that not many people, full-grown adults, possess. And today, I actually talked to the mistrustful little kid who looks up to his dad when the man's around and hasn't been to a park since he was four. Now, you tell me to just sit by and let the kid get stuck in the miserable lifestyle his father planned out for him."

Sam watched as his brother headed back into the room, greeting the boys and offering to make them something to eat. Sammy sighed as the door closed. He could understand it, had actually thought about doing the same thing, but it was too risky. Shaking his head, he opened the door and joined his brother by the fridge.

"We got problems," Dean muttered softly enough that that kids couldn't hear.

"Don't even get me started."

"No, Sam, last-can-of-Spaghetti-Os problems. There's no food."

"How long have you guys been here?' Sam asked, turning to face the boys, who were seated at the table.

"About a week and a half," little Dean answered, shrugging, "why? Are we out of food?"

"Dad usually came by and dropped more off before we could run out," Dean added, "how do you guys feel about fast food? McDonalds or something? At least until we can get to a store."

Both boys shrugged.

"How are we gonna get there?" Sam asked, closing the refrigerator door, "dad's got the car."

Dean shrugged. "We walk."

* * *

"I think that was the greasiest burger I've ever eaten," Sam marveled as he trudged back into the room, his feet tired from walking, and plopped down on the couch. 

"Well," Dean sighed, sitting down beside him, "that's what we get for catching the first wormhole to a time period when the FDA didn't care about killing people, just so long as that freakin' clown kept grinning."

"So, who's going to the store for groceries? I volunteer you."

"Why me?"

"It was your idea to walk."

Dean grinned. "How was I supposed to know the closest fast food joint was almost two miles away?"

"Well," the youngest kid piped up, "I tried to tell you."

"Yeah," the older said, collapsing on the floor in front of the TV, "and I told you he wouldn't listen. _I _started tuning you out after five minutes."

"It took you five?" Dean questioned, chuckling, "I guess I've perfected it. It's an art, kid. It only took me three."

Everyone laughed, even though the joke wasn't that funny. Things had been tense at the restaurant. Apparently, the boys had heard themselves arguing on the other side of the door. It had taken Dean promising that everything was OK to get them both to eat. Sam was often amazed at the way his brother could so easily threaten death on any innocent person that harmed his family, and also comfort the troubled children they often stumbled across on their hunts.

"They're not gonna get rid of the clown, are they? 'Cause I like him."

"So do I, but watch out for Burger King commercials in a few years. If they start out with some guy alone in bed, change the channel. Trust me, they found a way to sell burgers _and_ scare little children."

"And 27-year-old demon hunters who happen to be scared of puppets," Sam smiled, "don't forget about them."

Dean nodded. "So, if I'm going to the store today, what do you want? Anything _besides _Spaghetti-Os, Sammy, you're the only one who likes them, and even you get tired of them after a while."

"Lucky Charms," little Dean answered, "he owes me a bowl."

"That happened last year, Dean," his brother countered, "let it go."

"Not until you pay me back that bowl," the eldest hunter in the room answered, grinning. The room again erupted into laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, it's time for yet another chapter! Thanks yet again to everyone who's bothering to review.

* * *

Dean had quickly come to regret deciding to pick up a few cans of his little brother's favorite food. While the small grocery store, one that seemed to be a very tiny, failing Wal-Mart wanna-be, wasn't as far from the room as the McDonald's had been, it was still a long walk, especially with several cans full of Spaghetti-Os in one of the bags at his side. However, he was confident that the look on his own young face when he walked through the door and revealed what was in the _other_ bag would be well worth it. Not Lucky Charms, but something Dean had wanted almost all of his childhood.

He stumbled up to the door, nearly spilling the five bags of food he'd collected on his shopping spree, and raised a hand to knock.

"Who's there?" Sam's voice called from the other side, and Dean could imagine the untrusting look in his eyes. He gave his name.

"How old are you?"

"I'm 27, dude," Dean called back, shifting the bags on his arms. They were starting to get heavy.

"Who's the president?"

"Now? Man, I dunno, but in 17 years it'll George W. Bush. Happy?"

"Who came before him?"

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes and debating whether or not he should drop the bags while Sam quizzed him on current events. "Clinton, a man after my own heart. Can I come in now? This crap is getting heavy."

The sound of one deep chuckle and two high pitched giggles met his ears and the hunter couldn't help but smile at his family. As messed up as they may be, they could sure as hell adapt fast.

The door opened and he walked in, dropping the bags on the kitchenette's yellow tiled floor and breathing a sigh of relief. "You know, that store's fifty miles away."

"It is not," the littlest boy smiled as he began digging through the bags for something good.

"Maybe, but it sure feels that way when you're lugging twenty pounds of Spaghetti-Os."

"What's in the other bag?"

Dean turned to look at himself. The boy was staring with suspicious eyes at the only bag he hadn't dropped on the floor, the one with the surprise in it.

"Well," the oldest hunter shrugged, "since we have some time to kill before dinner rolls around, and there's really nothing to do in here, I figured maybe we could get out. Stretch our legs, maybe grab some fresh air. There's a basketball court in that park we went to today."

"We don't have a basketball."

Dean smiled, trying hard not to look at Sam, who was also eying him suspiciously. "Now you do," he pulled the ball out of the bag and dropped it to the floor, where it rolled to the ten-year-old's feet, "I was thinking maybe we could play some one-on-one before dinner."

The boy grinned, revealing a small gap in his otherwise perfect teeth. It was the look his older self had been hoping for, sure enough. Sam, on the other hand, didn't seem so happy about it.

"What about Jake? He's still out there."

Dean shrugged. "If he's stupid enough to attack us again, we'll deal with it. Don't worry, I'm not gonna let anything kill little me."

Sam shook his head as his brother opened the door and ushered the little boy out. He glanced over at the younger child, who was busy sorting through the groceries, and sighed. The look on this kid's face was heart wrenching, a primitive form of his own perfected puppy-dog face. The boy wanted to go, too.

"Hey, Dean," Sam called out before the door could close. His brother stuck his head in. He couldn't believe he was about to say it, but he agreed with the older man. Maybe a little happiness was what they really needed in their young lives. "How about some two-on-two?"

Dean's face lit up, as did little Sammy's. "Sure thing, man. Come on."

* * *

The courts were a little run-down, sure, but they served their purpose. The ball bounced from boy to man as the game commenced. All four Winchesters were a little rusty, but that didn't matter in the long run. 

"It's not fair," Dean complained as Sam ran past him and dunked the ball through the hoop, "you're taller than me!"

"And 17 years ago you were taller than me," Sam countered, tossing him the ball, "it all works out in the end. Now watch, kid, because this man right here is proof that you'll always suck at sports."

Dean attempted a basket and failed miserably, his shoulders slumping as the ball sailed past the backboard and into the grassy area beyond. "I'm just rusty," he muttered, "that's all."

* * *

"So," the older man began, walking out of the small bedroom to join his brother on the couch, "the kids are full, completely spent, and probably already asleep. Wanna talk about today?" 

"What about it?" Sam asked.

"You had fun. I know you don't want to admit it, but you had fun. The kids had fun, too. Now, I know exactly where everything's hidden in this room, and we could take it all, grab the kids, and find Jake, or we could go with Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

Dean sighed, avoiding his brother's glare. "When we were coming back from the park I noticed some trucks pulling into town and onto an old dirt lot. They're setting up for a carnival. I was thinking maybe-"

"No," Sam said firmly, "that's where I draw the line. It was bad enough you told that kid everything, worse yet that you got me to guilt myself into playing basketball with you, but no carnival. We never went to those things when we were kids."

"Exactly. Didn't you ever wonder what it was like? They'll have fun. We'll have fun, too, I guarantee it."

"We can't. We'll go after Jake tomorrow, we'll go back through the wormhole. They'll try to forget about us, dad will undoubtedly come back, and they'll move on. We'll all move on. No carnival."

"You know, you always bitch about the crappy time we had growing up, moving from motel to motel, and never getting to be normal. You finally get a chance to change that and you don't take it. Why? It's not because it could change the future, because we both know that our future isn't exactly bright. Now what is it really?"

Sammy shook his head. "Dad. If he knew we were trying to change things, he'd kill us."

"He'll never know."

"That doesn't make it all right. We're not even sure _what_ we're changing, just that something'll probably be different. Who knows, Jess might still die, dad might still walk out on you, we might end up right back where we started. We can't do it, Dean. No carnival."

"Tell me about it," Dean sighed.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I already promised myself we'd go. I'm sure he's told his brother. But, if you want to crush their little hopes, be my guest. If not, I can always take them and you can stay here and do whatever. I don't mind babysitting."

Sam sighed, finally recognizing defeat. They would go, with or without him. "Fine, I'll tag along. But only for a couple of hours, all right? Then we're back on the hunt."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, and Sam could have sworn he'd seen a wink toward the kids' closed bedroom door.


	7. Chapter 7

Well, time for another chapter. Finally, things are picking up. And, i mean, come on, you can't go wrong with a carnival, right?

* * *

People were screaming, but for once in the Winchester's lives, it wasn't from fear. The roller coaster trundled loudly along the track as a merry-go-round tinkled out a tune and a small Ferris wheel spun. Sam stood in the middle of it all, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched his younger self wave from one of the rides. He forced a smile and waved back, watching as the kid frowned with confusion.

That simple action scared the tar out of the hunter, who was still getting the distinct feeling that the kid could read minds and didn't even know it. But if he had, in the past, been able to worm his way inside people's heads, why couldn't he remember it?

"Here ya go."

Sam was ripped from his thoughts as a large purple dog was shoved into his arms. He looked at Dean questioningly.

"Won it," the older man shrugged, "thought the kid might like it."

"How'd you win this?" Sam asked, pulling the stuffed animal away from his face to get a good look at it.

"Same way he won this one," the ten-year-old replied, shifting the huge brown bear he was holding, "popping balloons with darts."

"See," Dean smiled, "dad was right when he said target practice would come in handy."

"That's great," Sam muttered, struggling to see over the dog's head as kids began filing off the ride. Dean grabbed the animal back and handed it to the shaggy little boy as he approached.

"Happy birthday," he grinned as the kid took it, his green eyes shining.

"How'd you know it was my birthday?" Sammy asked.

Dean shrugged. "Lucky guess. You guys hungry?"

"We can go back to the room to eat," Sam suggested, "maybe start looking for Jake after that."

"Or," Dean began, "I could take little you and we could grab some hotdogs and you and little me can go find a place to sit. Deal? Good." Without waiting for any kind of reply from his brother, Dean took the smallest of the kids and walked off with him toward a hotdog cart.

Sam glanced down at the freckled boy standing beside him. "I don't like you," he muttered.

"Yeah? You act like a girl."

"Am I a pretty girl?"

The boy laughed, again revealing the small gap between his front teeth, as he followed Sam to one of the wooden picnic tables that had been set up. "You're beautiful," he finally chuckled.

"Great. Just what I wanted to hear." He looked back at his brother, standing in a long line with his hands in his pockets, talking with the little boy that stood at his side. "Hey," Sam began slowly, "can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Your brother… does he ever have bad dreams?"

"Everyone has bad dreams."

"Do his come true?"

Dean laughed again. "No. He's not psychic. But lately he's been really quiet, and he gives me all these weird looks. It's almost like he knows what I'm thinking, but that's impossible, right? Unless, that is, _you_ can read minds."

Sam shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint. No telepathy here."

The boy nodded and went on watching the crowds of people milling around. A nearby family was eating a picnic lunch and laughing. Dean smiled. "This is great," he muttered, "I never would have been able to do something like this if you guys hadn't shown up. I'd probably be back in the room right now with Sammy, bored to death, and really hungry."

"Or dead. If we hadn't shown up when we had, you'd both be dead now."

The kid shuddered. "Yeah. Thanks."

"What were you guys doing out of the room, anyway? Didn't dad always say to stay locked in?"

Dean shrugged. "I got bored. Nothing should have gone wrong, not this time. I took Sam with me. Nothing was going to attack him again because I took him with. I just wanted to have a little fun. You're not gonna tell anyone, are you? You won't tell me?"

"Why should it matter? He knows what you were doing."

"Yeah, but he might be disappointed. I don't want him to get mad at me."

"That would be like getting mad at himself. He wouldn't do that."

"I could have gotten you killed," the kid said, looking up into his eyes, "he wouldn't be able to forgive me for something like that. Please, promise me you won't tell. I'll do whatever you want. I'll even let you leave. Hell, I'll help you pack."

Sam gazed at the boy, a ten-year-old who'd just sworn, who was scared of himself, and who had more issues than Sam could poke a stick at. "I won't tell. Just don't cuss. Dad'll get mad if he hears."

The boy smiled. "All right." He looked back at the line for the hotdogs, which was moving incredibly slowly. "I'm glad you guys are here. It's been fun."

"That's the point, isn't it?"

"I guess. I've just never gotten to do anything like this. It's great, too, having someone who knows you like that. It's like we're finally getting to be kids. I don't have to worry about protecting you anymore."

"Why not?"

Dean grinned as the food approached. "He promised he wouldn't let anything happen while he was here. Like a vacation. I can finally sleep all night long."

Sam glanced briefly at the boy as a hotdog was set down in front of him. He turned to look at his brother, who had slid onto the bench and, somehow, already devoured half of his meal.

"After lunch, I was thinking we could stay maybe one more hour, then go looking for Jake," he suggested, "sound good?"

The kids both moaned, but agreed to help, even though it would mean they wouldn't get to ride everything or play all of the games.

Sighing, Sam picked up his hotdog. "Actually," he muttered, "we could stay a little longer. Maybe until nightfall. Then head back to the room, get some sleep, and go after the demon tomorrow."

"Are you suggesting we stay here all day?"

"Unless you really want to leave, yeah."

Dean grinned, "I guess we're staying."

* * *

The little boy's head lay limply on the older man's shoulder, dark, unruly hair tickling his face. Sure, Dean knew the kid wasn't asleep, but he was tired and needed rest. Besides, what kind of babysitter would let a six-year-old walk back to a motel room in the dark like that? He was just fine giving piggy-back rides. 

"All right," Sam finally conceded, staring over the top of the stuffed dog's head, "I'll admit it. I had fun today. Probably more fun than I've had since leaving Stanford."

"Of course you had fun," Dean countered, shifting the exhausted kid's weight on his back, "it's a carnival. And no evil clowns this time."

"What are we gonna do tomorrow?" the little boy asked, reminding everyone that he was still awake.

"We're gonna hunt down the thing that attacked you and make sure it never tries to hurt anyone again," Dean smirked, "then my brother and I are heading home."

The kid nodded against his neck. "And we'll forget, right, Dean?"

His brother nodded sadly. "Yeah. We'll forget."

The group rounded the corner to the parking lot and stopped dead. Sam dropped the purple dog onto the pavement, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the car, at the lights shining from the window of the motel room their father had left them in. He knew what it meant. "Daddy's home."


	8. Chapter 8

So many people just called me evil. All i have to say to them is: Hey, at least I'm updating! Here's Chapter 8!

* * *

The moment he heard the tumblers fall back and the door squeak open, John Winchester was on his feet, his head turned down, ready to reprimand his irresponsible son. Instead, he found himself looking at a torn-up, faded pair of blue jeans.

John's eyes traveled up the man that stood in the doorway to the motel room. He'd never seen the man before, at least not that he could remember, and that was bad. "Who the hell are you?" John demanded, searching the parking lot for his sons and finding them hiding behind the strange man's legs.

"I'm friends with your kids," the man answered, flashing a nervous smile that didn't reach his hazel eyes. He raked a shaking hand through his sandy hair and laughed weakly. "Can we come in?"

"Boys," John barked, grabbing both of his sons' arms and pulling them roughly into the room, "get behind me." His sons did as they were told without an argument, and the hunter saw for the first time that another man was standing in the parking lot, holding two large stuffed animals. "Christo," John hissed, his eyes narrowing. The two men in front of him didn't flinch.

"We're not demons," the man with the toys said, stepping forward.

"What are you then?" John asked, his eyes briefly flitting to the shotgun that was propped up in the corner.

"What's the matter, dad?" the shorter of the two asked, stepping around the hunter to enter the room, "don't you recognize your own sons?"

John kept his sons behind him as both men entered the room, shutting the door behind them and cutting off the hunter's only escape route. He glanced back at his boys, who both cringed as his eyes fell on them. "What did you do to them?"

"We didn't do anything," the taller man, who was in desperate need of a haircut, said, "besides saving them. My, uh, brother doesn't know what he's talking about, do you, Dean?"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. The man deserves to know, Sam." the shorter man replied.

"It could ruin everything. Besides, do you really think he'd believe us?"

The hunter's eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for a way to escape the intruders while they were distracted. Unfortunately, the only door was blocked and none of the windows opened. He was trapped. Even worse, his sons were trapped with him. "What do you want from us?" he asked, stopping the newcomers' argument.

"Nothing," the shorter man said, smiling, "we're not demons, we're not ghosts, we're your sons. Well, in seventeen years, anyway. We missed you, dad."

John glanced back at his sons, then at the men standing in front of him. "You're Sam and Dean? _My_ Sam and Dean?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's cute. You might have been able to fool my sons, but I'm a little smarter than a couple of kids. It would take a lot of convincing and some serious proof to get me to even trust you enough to let you leave this room alive."

"It's true, dad," Sammy muttered from behind him, "they're us."

"Shush up and let the grown-ups talk, Sammy. Proof. Now."

Shrugging, Dean tossed his jacket onto one of the room's chairs and rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a long scar running from his wrist to his elbow. "My first hunt," he said, "I was seven and got tossed through the air by a poltergeist. I hit a bookcase and it fell on top of me. It wasn't a wooden shelf like most bookcases, though, it was this big elaborate thing made of iron. There were points all over it and it sliced my arm wide open. You had to rush me to the emergency room. Forty stitches. You made me stay home with Sam after that."

"Anybody could have found that out," John scoffed, eying the man suspiciously, "_convince_ me."

Dean nodded. "Right before the fire, you went into the nursery, I jumped into your arms, and you asked me if I thought Sammy was ready to play catch yet. You never did get around to playing with him. Shame, too, because he could have whooped your ass."

The hunter's eyes traveled up the scar to the man's haunted eyes. He still wasn't convinced.

"All right," Dean sighed, throwing up his hands in exasperation, "let's see. Last year, you were hunting something in Wisconsin. I left the room, Sam was attacked, and you're still mad at me. You're always going to be mad at me. In fact, you'll hate me until the day you die. Sad thing is, nothing I do can change that, because you're stubborn. _Sadder_ thing is, you _know_ you'll never forgive me."

John stared at the man, glanced back down at the scar, and turned back to his sons. Scared hazel eyes looked up at him, as if his oldest son had been betrayed in the worst way.

"Believe us now?" the taller man asked, stepping forward and dropping the stuffed animals to the floor.

Silence fell in the room while John considered the situation. Finally, he let his guard down. Muscles relaxed as the hardened hunter stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the shaggy-haired stranger. "Sammy?" he asked as the man nodded, "boy, you got tall."

He disengaged the embrace, stepping back to look at the man his youngest son would become, and was shocked to see a familiar look in the shining green eyes. It was the same hurt that John saw every time he looked into a mirror, the hurt that had appeared after his wife's death.

Slowly, the hunter turned to the other man, who smiled weakly, a little embarrassed after his sudden confession. "Dean," John began, patting the man on the shoulder, "you know you shouldn't have told me that."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, hanging his head as his father took a seat at the kitchenette's small table, "I know."

"Now," the older hunter sighed, "you mind telling me how this happened?" Sam and Dean sat down opposite their father, who glanced at the kids. "Boys, it's late. Get ready for bed."

"We _always_ miss the good stuff," Sammy complained, grabbing his dog off the floor and following his big brother into the bedroom.

"All right," John said, turning back to the adults, "what was it? Wormhole?"

"Yes, sir," Sam nodded, "we found it in the Topeka courthouse in 2006. We were hunting a man named Jake. He'd been possessed and led us right to the hole. We jumped through and landed here. We spent a day searching for Jake before we finally found him. He-"

"He'd broken into the room to attack the kids," Dean interrupted.

"How?" John asked as Sam glared at his brother.

"He went in through a window. We saw him break in," Dean lied, "and jumped into full-on hunter mode. We broke down the door and scared him off as he wrestling with, uh, me. He ran out the open door and Sam and I introduced ourselves as friends of yours to gain their trust, but I wasn't won over easily. It was work just to get the kid to back away from the shotgun."

John smiled weakly. "Yeah. Then you told them?"

"No," Sam said, "Dean read them a bedtime story and we settled in for the night. He told himself the next day, and I guess I found out from him. We've just kind of been hanging out and-"

"Looking for Jake almost non-stop," Dean interrupted again, "we thought he, uh, might be hiding out with the carnival freaks so we scouted the place today, you know, after training. Can't slack on that."

Sam stared at his brother, who was lying convincingly. The only thing that really shocked the younger man was _who_ Dean was lying to. He usually never kept anything from their father.

"That's it, huh?" John asked, "what's been going on? Nothing else?"

"Well," Dean said, "I went to the store for more food, but other than that, it's pretty much been hunting and training. Now," he turned in his chair to look back at the bedroom door, "knowing me, I'll be listening in on the conversation. Excuse me while I go scold myself for eavesdropping."

* * *

"All right, guys," Dean said, walking into the room and closing the door securely behind him, "I know you're not really asleep. Or, at least, one of you isn't. So, come on, sit up. It's time for a little lesson on privacy invasion." 

He sat down on one of the beds as a sandy head popped up from beneath the covers. "Eavesdropping's wrong and I shouldn't do it," the ten-year-old sighed, "can I go to sleep now?"

"How much of that did you hear?" Dean asked, glancing quickly at the other bed and ascertaining that Sammy really was asleep.

"All of it. Why'd you lie to dad?"

"Why do you think I lied?"

The kid looked at him hopefully, hazel eyes shining with a kind of mistrustful understanding. "To protect me. You didn't want him to know I'd put Sam in danger. But why didn't you tell him I'd figured it out?"

Dean shrugged, smiling slightly. "Forcing someone to admit they're from the future is kind of against the rules. I didn't want to see you get in trouble."

"But won't he be mad at you?"

"Doesn't matter. You shouldn't be getting in trouble for something beyond your control."

The kid seemed to relax, sliding farther under the covers and sighing. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dean smiled, patting the boy on the head and turning towards the door, "now go to sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

I'd like to (again) thank everyone who's reviewed for even bothering to read the story, let alone talk about reading the story :)

* * *

"Why'd he lie to me, Sam?" John asked the minute Dean had disappeared behind the door.

Sam was taken aback for a minute, so shocked that he almost didn't answer. "What do you mean?" he finally asked, glancing nervously at the bedroom door.

John smiled slyly. "I checked over every inch of this room before leaving my sons alone. The windows don't open. They're nailed shut. There's no way that a demon got in through a window. That was lie number one. Lie number two was that you broke down the door. If you had really done that, it wouldn't have opened so smoothly and there'd be evidence of a break-in. Now, I'm pretty sure he's lying about the whole 'training-and-hunting' thing, too. You boys went to the carnival to have a little fun today, didn't you?"

Sam glanced down at his hands, watching his thumbs battle with each other as he avoided his father's gaze. "He was telling you the truth."

"The boys left the room, didn't they, Sam? That's when the demon attacked. And even Dean isn't stupid enough to disclose information about coming events. Somehow, my kids figured it out, didn't they? My only real question to you, son, is why would he lie?"

Sam just shrugged weakly, still twiddling his thumbs. "I think," he finally mumbled, "that he was trying… trying to protect the kids. Or, at least, himself."

"Why would he need to protect himself?" John asked coolly, causing Sam's head to snap up.

The younger Winchester didn't like what he saw in his father's eyes. It was some sort of foreign mixture of disappointment, hatred, and fear. And suddenly, Sam understood. It hit him with such force that he actually gasped. Because having Dean around was like taking a vacation. The kid didn't need to worry about his brother, didn't even have to fear their father's wrath. Suddenly, someone else was there to take on the burdens.

"Because of you," Sam muttered, his eyes narrowing, "it's been a year since the shtriga attack, right? And you've just had this kind of weird aversion to him, haven't you? Because he made a mistake. Well, let me tell you something, dad, he's sure as hell never gonna make another one. You know why? Eighteen years later, he still remembers what happened, and it kills him."

John sighed. "It was just a question. You don't have to get angry about it."

"I do," Sam replied, "because you need to hear this now. Dean's all for changing the past, and at first I wasn't sure why, but now I think I am. No one's ever treated him like a human being. He was my guardian, your soldier, and every monster's punching bag. That kid deserves an ounce of compassion before it ruins him."

"Sam, stop. I can't hear this. It'll change things."

"No, you _really_ need to hear this, because what he told you to make you believe us, it wasn't entirely crap, dad. At least, not in his mind. True, you never got over the shtriga thing, and, true, you never treated him the same after that, but you didn't hate him. He just _thought_ you did."

John looked his son in the eyes, a sudden question bubbling to the front of his mind faster than he could push it away. It unnerved him, but he had to ask, had to know. "Why the past tense, son? Is something going to happen to me?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, not really caring about the freaking time stream anymore, "yeah, it is. You're gonna die. And it's gonna bug both of us. It's gonna hit him the hardest, though. But he's never gonna tell me. I'm gonna have to guess, because some _idiot_ told him that emotion is a sign of weakness. Gee, I wonder who _that_ was."

"Sam-"

"You started it. Let me finish. You died, and he had trouble dealing with that. And now you're here, yelling at him for messing up the time stream, treating him like some sort of plague victim because last year he almost let me get eaten. Well, here I am, dad, all grown up and not a scratch on me. You might wanna check Dean for some emotional scars, though. I'm sure you'll find a lot."

"Sammy."

"What?"

"Are you done now?"

Sam sighed, taking a deep breath and exhaling it as he again averted his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Because your brother isn't going to stay in that room forever."


	10. Chapter 10

I just wanted to thank everyone for reading again, and to warn you all that school starts tomorrow, so I won't be able to update as often. Just thought I should give you a heads up!

* * *

Shuffling. Something was shuffling around on the far side of the room. Sam opened his eyes and found that someone had turned on the lights in the motel room. He also noticed that his father and brother were nowhere to be found. The shuffling sounds were coming from the direction of the kids' room.

Sam jumped awake, fearing that maybe, in the darkness of the night, Jake had snuck in and begun his massacre. However, when he saw his father standing beside the bedroom door and his fears were allayed, he relaxed.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, trudging up to his father's side.

"Nothing much," John replied, "Sammy had a bad dream."

"A nightmare?" Sam asked, panic gnawing at his stomach again, "what happened?"

John shrugged. "Your basic 'daddy turning into a yellow-eyed monster and killing everyone' dream."

"He told you that?"

"No," John said, hanging his head for a moment, "that's what I overheard." He put out a hand and gently nudged open the bedroom door. "Your brother got there first."

Sam looked into the room to find Dean sitting on one of the bed, a small, shaggy-haired boy on his lap. He cooed softly, rocking the boy back and forth as best he could while stroking the kid's hair. The boy had a solid grip on Dean's shirt and was shaking almost uncontrollably, obviously still scared.

"He said I should probably stay out here," John muttered, closing the door as Sam glanced at the other bed, "you should probably get back to sleep. Should be well-rested if we want to find this demon of yours tomorrow."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, unsure of what was more shocking: the fact that Dean was coddling a six-year-old version of him, or that fact that ten-year-old Dean was sleeping through the whole thing.

* * *

This time, it was the clinking of a glass and the familiar sound of rummaging that woke Sam from his slumber. The bathroom light was on, and the door stood open. 

"Dean?" he asked, standing in the doorway and looking in at his brother, who was searching for something, "whatcha looking for?"

Dean sighed, running a hand through his short hair. "Kiddie Tylenol. I don't think we have any."

Sam grinned. "Hate to break it to you, but I think you're a little old for the junior strength."

"Not for me, smartass, for _you. _Don't know if you heard, but little Sammy had a nightmare."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I heard. A murderous, yellow-eyed version of dad. Do you think-?"

"Don't even," Dean cautioned, "it's not happening again. I won't let it. Not to them. Not now. Found it!"

"How is he?" Sam asked as his brother rushed past him and back towards the bedroom.

Dean shrugged. "Well, he's still a little shaken. Wants me to sleep with him tonight. Oh, and he has a headache. Really bad from what I gather." He noticed the look his brother was giving him and abruptly turned away. "It's stress, Sam. Nothing more, nothing less. Can you blame him?"

* * *

The third time Sam woke up that night, it was because something was relentlessly tugging at his arm. He opened his eyes to find that the sun was shining through the windows and that the tugging was a certain six-year-old. 

"Come on, get up!" Sammy pleaded, still tugging at his arm even as the adult sat up and yawned, "Dean's making waffles!"

"Oh, this I've gotta see," Sam grinned as he let the kid drag him from the lumpy couch and into the kitchenette, where John and his eldest son were sitting. Dean was standing by the grimy stove, blowing on his fingers as if he'd burnt them. Sam laughed.

"You may chuckle now, College Boy, but that's only because you've forgotten how good a cook I can be," Dean smirked, setting a plate of golden waffles drenched in syrup on the table.

Sam was speechless for a moment, until he saw the box. "Dude," he muttered, slapping Dean's hand away as he reached for a waffle, "leggo my Eggo. Seriously, though. You made toaster waffles?"

"Told you he'd find out," the ten-year-old smirked, grabbing a couple of waffles and sliding them onto his plate.

"Well, if _someone_ had hidden the box like I told him to half an hour ago," Dean hissed, "he never would have noticed, would he?"

"What are you gonna do," the kid shot back, "ground yourself?"

John, who had been watching the scene unfold with mild interest, cleared his throat, effectively quieting the room. "So," he began, eying the waffles suspiciously, as if he thought Dean might have poisoned them, "this demon you were hunting, what's he look like?"

Sam shrugged. "Brown hair, blue eyes," he described through a mouthful of waffle, "shorter than Dean. Last we saw, he was wearing jeans, a dark shirt, and a black raincoat. And he's possessed, that should be a dead giveaway."

The eldest hunter nodded, seeming to think about something. "You think it's linked to the thing that killed your mother?"

"The Big Bad?" Dean asked, "we don't think, we _know_. That thing's been sending it's kids after us for over a year now. A couple of them almost killed us. Beat Sam's perfect face up pretty bad, too."

"Least I wasn't stupid enough to remind it I'd killed its family," Sam mumbled.

"What was that?" John asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dean killed a demon. Nothing big."

"You said he reminded it of something. What?"

The taller man glanced at his brother, who had flinched and averted his eyes, staring off into the room, as if searching for something. Then he looked at the kid, who seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, and was pleading silently with large eyes and a trembling chin.

"Just that you should never mess with a Winchester," Sam muttered, "now, back to Jake. You really think we can find him?"

The subject change didn't go unnoticed by John, who was gazing at Dean with deep suspicion, but he didn't let on. "I'm sure, as long as he stayed within the city. Let's face it, in order to get the job done and go back to your time before the wormhole closes, he'd have to stay close. We just need to draw him out. We need bait."

"What are we gonna use?" the ten-year-old asked, though by the way he was holding his fork, so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, everyone at the table figured he had a pretty good idea.

"It's after you kids," John said placidly, "we're going to use you as bait, Dean. _Just_ you. It's too dangerous for Sammy." He looked at his son, whose face was clouded with uncertainty. "You can do this for me, right, son?"

The boy nodded slowly, his face paling. "Yes, sir," he muttered, looking down at his unfinished waffles.

"That's my man," John grinned, an expression that never touched his dark eyes.

"You know," Dean began, finally looking up at his father, "maybe we don't need bait. Maybe we can track him down. Maybe he's killed someone, left a trail. We might even be able to summon him to us."

John's eyes flashed. "Stop it," he warned.

"But, dad," Dean pressed on, "there are ways to summon these things, I know there are. We can call him to us, exorcise him, and push him back through the portal. Crisis averted. No one needs to be put in harm's way."

"I told you to stop it, Dean."

"Why? We don't need to endanger the kid's life if-"

"Just stop trying to protect yourself!" John finally shouted, "you can't change the past. You can't change _yourself_. You really think that a few days of normalcy will make a big difference in the long run? It won't. You're just hurting yourself, Dean. You're hurting all of us, messing up the timeline. Just stop it."

The room was suddenly silent. Sighing, John stood up and left, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Thanks for trying," the freckled ten-year-old whispered after a pause, "no one's ever stood up for me before."

Dean hung his head, smiling slightly at what the boy had just said. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. No one ever will again." He stood up and left.


	11. Chapter 11

All right, I have time for one more update today (I'm feeling generous because everyone feels bad for Dean now).

* * *

John ran into the room shortly after Dean's return and began throwing things into his duffel bag. "Daddy?" Sammy asked, popping his head over the couch, where he'd been sitting to draw some more disturbing pictures, "what's wrong?" 

"On the news," John said quickly, "I just saw it in the office. A string of cattle mutilations in Hamlet, Nebraska. It's probably just a coyote or something, but it could be worse. It might be a werewolf."

"Cattle mutilations?' Dean asked, looking up from the sink, where he was busy washing the dishes from that morning's breakfast.

"Yes, why?"

"Have there been electrical storms in that area recently?"

"I didn't hear," John said distractedly, finally zipping up his duffel and turning to face his son, "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "No reason. Just a question."

Sam, who had been watching himself draw, turned to glare at his brother. Lying to their father, withholding information, what next? As he opened his mouth to say something, the little boy beside him tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Don't," the kid warned, "please don't make daddy yell at him again. He knows what he's doing."

Even though Sam didn't quite believe the kid, there was just something about the way the boy was looking at him, his eyes wide and pleading. Again, Sam Winchester fell victim to his own puppy-dog look. Sighing, he turned back to the kid's pictures, which clearly depicted a man with shining yellow eyes standing over four mounds of dirt, two small, two large.

John grumbled something about wasting his time and headed out the door. "You boys can take care of your demon, right?" he asked, then, without waiting for an answer, "right. Good. Dean, remember what I said. Be good." The boy nodded as his father closed the door and left the room.

"So," Dean began, watching the Impala drive away, "let's go find Jake. Can't be too hard to track him down."

"We're not going to use me as bait?" the ten-year-old asked, relief flooding his voice.

"No," Dean said, "I'm sure that he'll come to us if he realizes time is running short. All we have to do is pick an exorcism," he pulled his father's battered old journal out of the inside pocket of his coat, "and hope it works."

"Hey," Sammy marveled, finally turning his large eyes from his older self, "that's daddy's book, only older and bigger."

"Sure is," Dean smiled, sitting down on the couch and beginning to thumb through the journal.

* * *

A soft breeze blew through the park as Dean sat on the bright green bench, his arm wrapped protectively around the ten-year-old who sat beside him. He hated to admit it, but his father had been right. Jake was definitely after the kids, and it was just too dangerous to send Sam out into a fight. However, he sure as hell wasn't about to send a kid out to do a man's job, which was why he sat, unprotected, with the small boy on the bench. They were _both_ acting as bait. 

"He won't come if you're here," the kid said, "he'll know it's a trap."

"I've spent the past couple of days with you," Dean pointed out, "it won't look suspicious."

"You should have brought something. Something to hurt him."

"He'd probably know. Relax, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." Dean smiled down at the boy, who had straightened up at the words. He knew why. No one had shown the kid anything close to compassion since his mother had died. His father had turned into a drill sergeant, his brother into his responsibility, and, as a result, he had grown up too fast.

"We shouldn't have left Sammy alone," the boy finally muttered, "something could happen. Dad would get mad if he knew."

"He won't find out. Even if he does, I'll take all the blame."

"Why? Why'd you stand up for me? You're doing all this nice stuff, but you won't ever remember it, will you?"

Dean shrugged, looking into the kid's eyes and watching as the perfectly trained soldier began melting away, giving way to a small, scared little boy who had never really had a friend or protector. "I dunno. Doesn't matter, though. Our date's here."

The boy looked over to the entrance of the park, where a man in a dark raincoat was standing, staring at them. He smiled, walking casually toward the bench, eyes going black as he neared it. "Howdy, there," the demon hissed, eyeing the boy with great interest, "been looking for you, sport."

"Funny," Dean smirked, "we've been looking for you, too." As soon as he'd finished the sentence, Sam jumped from the bushes, tackling Jake at an angle so that the possessed man's head hit the concrete sidewalk hard.

"Sorry," Sam grinned, rolling off the shorter man and tying his wrists behind his back, "hope that didn't hurt."

* * *

When Jake finally woke up, nearly five hours after he'd been tackled to the ground, he found himself staring into the eyes of one of the little snots he'd been sent to kill. The kid stared at him before turning and informing his elders that the captive had awoken. 

"So," Sam began, sliding up in front of Jake as he opened his father's journal, "you wanna tell us what you're doing in 1989?"

"Go to Hell."

"Right back atcha," Dean replied, "now tell the truth, Jakey, because we're really not in the mood to play around. See, my iPod hasn't been invented yet, so I can't charge it up. Without Britney and Christina, I get kinda grumpy."

Jake smirked, his eyes again turning black. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you both," he rasped, his voice deepening an octave or two, "and then my father will move on to your daddy. Oh, yes, he'll make a fitting host. Strong, healthy, and a real pain in the ass to boot."

"We already know the demon's in Nebraska," Sam said, "now, just tell us why it wants you to kill the kids and why it wants our father, and we might let you go."

"I don't believe you, hunter. Prove it."

Dean smirked, taking the journal from his brother hands, and began to read the exorcism they'd chosen earlier that day. Jake's body, tied in a chair in the middle of the room, contorted with pain as the demon inside fought for control. "We'll let you go," Dean muttered, stopping the ritual before it was over, "right on back to Hell. I bet your sister's been missing you."

"The children," Jake panted, "will die. If not by my hands, then by my father's. And you will again feel the pain of losing the man you once held so dear." He looked up at the hunters, his eyes devoid of all emotion, black as the night. "He will become my father's servant, and I will happily sacrifice myself for family!"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then back at the kids. Dean shrugged, looking back at the journal. "All right, then, if that's what you want." He finished the exorcism, sending the demon flying out of Jake's mouth and right on back to its warm, happy home.

The man tied in the chair before them slowly lifted his head and smiled. "Thanks," he muttered, "but you need to hurry… to Hamlet. It's going to possess your dad…. Kill them before they become you… hurry…" The man passed out as the brother's untied him.

"Is he telling the truth?" the ten-year-old asked, his voice barely audible, even in the silence of the room, "is the thing that killed mom really gonna go after dad and us next?"

Dean turned to look at the kids. "Probably," he said, "but we're gonna try to stop it. Sam, why don't you take little me and go, uh, get some transportation. I'll take you and send Jakey back home."

Sam nodded. "All right. Any, uh, preferences? Make, model?"

"How about a '67 Impala," Dean smirked, hoisting Jake's limp body over his shoulders, "black. Good luck."


	12. Chapter 12

Well, the first day of school passed and I don't ahve any homeowrk (though with an AP course and two Honors classes I'm not sure how long that'll last!). So, here's another chapter. Getting closer to the end now, but don't worry, faithful readers, I recently finished up the sequel, if you're interested :)

* * *

"This is illegal," Sammy muttered as he watched Dean pick the lock on the courthouse door, "it's breaking and entering."

Dean sighed, turning to the boy, a line from some TV show he'd caught late one night flashing through his mind. "It's only breaking and entering," he quoted, "if we break something, _then_ enter something."

"You got that from a TV show," the little boy replied matter-of-factly.

"What makes you say that?"

"I dunno," the kid shrugged, "just a feeling, I guess."

"Oh," Dean began, finishing with the lock and pushing the heavy door open, "well, you get feelings like that a lot?"

"Yeah," Sammy said, walking into the building and gazing around the dark courthouse, "and sometimes I hear things in my head. Sometimes I see things, too, but only at night or when I'm really tired."

"Huh," Dean remarked, looking through the darkness for the shape of the newly unveiled noose, "those things you see, do they ever happen?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Sometimes."

"You ever move things? Like, without touching them?"

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. "Once," he whispered, his voice shaking a little, "I got mad at daddy and a cup flew off a table. It almost hit him. It _would_ have if he hadn't ducked. He said the room was haunted and we left, but I think it was me, 'cause I was thinking about picking it up and throwing it."

"You ever move anything bigger?" Dean asked, finally locating the exhibit.

"No. And I've never told anyone, either. Not daddy, not even Dean."

"Well, why'd you tell me, then?"

The little boy shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling quickly in the darkness. "I dunno. I guess I know you won't tell. And Dean thinks you're all right, so you must be."

"He told you that?"

Sammy blushed. "Well, um, I kind of heard it, but he didn't _say_ anything."

Dean nodded, locating the plaque and sending Jake's limp form through the wormhole and back to 2006. "I see. That's pretty cool, you know?"

"Is it? I thought I was a freak."

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked, taking the boy's hand and leading him back through the courthouse, "that's incredible. You're like a superhero, kid, and a darn good one. See, even in a few years you'll be seeing things, and it's gonna save my butt _big_ time."

"Really?" the boy looked up at him with wide, astonished eyes, "_I'm _gonna save _you?_"

"Sure thing, buddy. A couple of times, actually."

The boy smiled happily, walking alongside the adult as they left the courthouse and headed back to the motel room, finally feeling like he had found someone he could talk to and glad that his brother's hidden thoughts and emotions had pointed him in the right direction.

* * *

"Now, let's clear this up," Sam began as he eyed a potential car, "this is _not_ stealing-" 

"It's just borrowing," Dean finished, "without permission and with no intent to return. I _know_. Just grab it already."

"You're a really pushy kid, you know that?"

"And you need a haircut. What else is new? While I'm still young, please!"

Sam sighed, walking casually up to the car, a white Dodge Colt. "Fine. Just watch and learn."

"Dude," Dean smirked, "you picked a crappy car."

"Well, not everyone's obsessive about cars like dad," Sam pointed out as he worked on the lock, "not everyone keeps their old Impala's in perfect condition. Most of them are in junkyards right now."

Finally, he pulled the door open and slid in behind the wheel. Dean climbed in over his lap and sat in the passenger seat as Sam began to hotwire the old car. "Um, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. What?"

Dean held up a keyring, smiling broadly. "I don't think you have to do that."

Sam looked at the kid, at the slightly haunted look of the hazel eyes, at the gap between the two front teeth, and for the first time since landing in '89, he realized something. He was looking at a _kid_, not his brother, not a soldier, not a hunter, but a _kid._

Grinning, he reached out and took the keys, noticing the raggedy appearance of the old clothes and the twisted scar poking its way out of the boy's shirtsleeve. "Thanks," he muttered, starting the car and glancing at the boy again, realizing how skinny he was.

"No problem," Dean smirked, leaning back in the seat, "that's what brothers are for."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, pulling away from the sidewalk by which the car had been parked and onto the road, "I guess. You know, speaking of brothers-"

"Sammy's not psychic. He just had a nightmare last night, that's all."

"I wasn't talking about _your_ brother. I was talking about mine. You two seem close."

"Duh. He's me. We're the same person. It's not good if you hate yourself."

Sam grinned. "True. But there's more, isn't there? Just something about him, right? I've noticed it since coming back out on the road with him. He's good with kids."

Dean shrugged, sighing as streetlights flashed by. "It's hard to explain. Like, because he's me, he knows everything. Even the secrets, the stuff I never tell people. It's cool to want something and not have to ask for it. And he _gets_ me, you know? He protects me better than dad does."

"And he told you things," Sam began, hoping he could find the motel again in the darkness, "things that are going to happen. Things that you can change someday, right? And you'll do it for him, won't you? You'll make sure no one leaves him this time."

The kid shook his head, sandy hair flopping around. "No. I can't change anything. Dad said it's bad."

"Yeah. But, I mean, all that my brother's done for you, it kind of makes you want to repay him, right? You feel kind of guilty letting him take the fall for things you did, and you want him to be happy."

"I never thought of that," Dean muttered, but one look at the kid told Sam he was lying, "but I guess it makes sense. I mean, maybe if I had known your girlfriend had died I wouldn't have made you leave."

Sam sighed, finally spying the lights of the motel. "You know what's supposed to happen, kid. Don't change a thing. And don't tell my brother about this, OK?" The boy nodded as the Dodge pulled up outside the room.

* * *

"A Dodge?" Dean asked, "you hotwired a _Dodge_? I specifically asked for a Chevy!" 

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes, as his brother disappeared into the motel room and emerged a few minutes later with a couple of backpacks and a duffel bag. He threw the bags in the trunk and shooed his younger self from the front passenger seat, banishing the kid to the back with his brother.

"Sorry," Sam began as Dean slid into the car and slammed the door, "but the people in this town aren't as weird as you and dad about cars. Besides, this was the only thing I could find that looked like it could take us all the way to Manning."

"Colorado?" Dean asked as the Dodge pulled out of the parking lot, "but the Big Bad's going to go after dad in Nebraska. Why go to Manning? It'll waste time."

"We're taking a detour," Sam said, "we're going to see Daniel Elkins."

"Who's Daniel Elkins?' Sammy asked from the back seat.

"One of dad's old friends," Sam explained, glancing in the rearview, "he has something we need if we want to go after the demon."

"The Colt?" Dean asked, "Sam, we've been over this. We can't shoot dad."

"Maybe we won't have to," Sam explained, tearing his eyes from those of the startled children in the backseat, "the demon knows what the gun can do, and if Jake talked to it, then it knows that we know where it is. If we show up with the gun, maybe it'll leave dad like last time."

"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly, "but if you'll recall, last time didn't exactly turn out so well. I wound up in a coma and dad wound up dead. And what if it figures we're bluffing with the gun? What if it knows we won't hurt dad?"

"Slow down," the ten-year-old said, leaning forward in his seat so he could better hear their conversation, "what gun?"

Dean sighed and began explaining the legend of the special gun Samuel Colt made in 1835, beginning with how he'd heard about it and ending with the last time he'd seen it used.

"And it can really kill anything?" the kid asked, now leaning back in his seat.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it can kill anything. It should still have five bullets left, and I'm sure if we explain things to Elkins he'll let us have it. We can scare the demon out of dad."

"What if it doesn't work? You won't kill our dad, will you? Because he's all Sammy and I have left. We can't take care of ourselves, we're just kids."

"We'll do what we have to do," Sam said.

Dean glared at him, eyes narrowing. "No, Dean," he said softly, "we won't kill your dad."

"If it comes down to it," Sam argued quietly, "we'll do what it takes to kill the demon."

"Even if it means killing dad?"

"Think of all the lives we'll save," Sam pointed out, growing frustrated as the car sped down the highway, "think of all the families we'll keep together by stopping it now."

"Jess won't die," Dean said, "you don't care about the other people, all of the families, you just care about yourself. You're pretty damn selfish, you know that?"

"Look who's talking. What was it you said? Something about changing things? So, what, you can, but I can't? Why, because you're scared I'll leave and never come back if my girlfriend lives? You think I'll just go on with my life once we get rid of that ghost in Jericho?"

"Yeah," a little voice said from the back, "yeah, that's what I'm scared of."

Sam glanced in the rearview again to see wide hazel eyes staring back at him. He turned to his brother, who was staring out the window at the passing darkness.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally, he sighed and laid his head against the window, falling asleep in one of the most uncomfortable positions imaginable.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks for reviewing, the story's almost hit the 100 mark! Sorry it's taken me a little longer than usual to update. Homeowrk in every class but Chem and Study Hall. Not much fun. Anyway, here's lucky chapter 13!

* * *

Daniel Elkins didn't answer the door when Sam knocked, which worried the hunter more than anything else possibly could have. He knocked again, calling out the man's name. When nothing happened, he backed up, ready to bust down the door, but a small tug on the bag of his jacket stopped him.

"You don't have to," the six-year-old said softly, "it's open."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

The boy glanced back at Dean, who was standing back by a pine tree and seemed to be inspecting something etched into the bark. "I dunno," the boy shrugged, "I just know."

"Well, if you're sure. Go get them. We'll head in and have a look around."

The boy nodded and headed off to the tree. Sam pushed the door gently open and could have sworn he heard his brother congratulate the younger of the two boys for something, though he wasn't sure what.

"Ladies first," Dean announced, pushing Sam through the doorway and into the house.

Sam turned as he stumbled, scowling, into the cabin, but didn't say anything. The small house was in shambles, like someone had tried to break in. There was no salt by the doors and windows, as there would be in a few years, and Elkins was still nowhere to be found.

"Looks like no one's home," Dean muttered, ushering the two small boys into the cabin and taking a look around, "don't suppose you remember where he kept the gun."

"You think we should steal it?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "We'll leave a note. He'll understand."

Shaking his head, Sam led the way into one of the cabin's few rooms, looking around for anything suspicious. He walked up to a section of false wood paneling on one wall, running his fingers over it, tracing a nearly-invisible line. "That safe's hidden back here," he muttered, opening the panel to reveal a steel door with a combination lock on it.

"It's gonna take forever to crack that thing," the ten-year-old moaned, eying the safe.

"Not necessarily," Dean whispered, bending down by the boy's little brother and whispering something in the kid's ear.

Sam watched as the safe door began to bend and buckle. He stumbled back a few steps, nearly tripping on a pile of dusty books, as the door flew open, revealing an ornate wooden box. "How the hell?" he asked, walking slowly back up to the safe and peering inside.

"Kids," Dean explained, coming to stand beside him, "are more in tune with whatever cosmic forces are out there. That's why our boy here's a mind reader as well as a visionary and spoon-bender. The abilities tapered off around puberty and you blocked the memory of them out. See, I can figure things out. I'm not stupid."

"How'd you know?" Sam hissed at his brother as they pulled the box carefully out of the safe and the kids joined them.

Dean shrugged. "He told me, didn't you, slugger?" He ruffled the boy's shaggy hair. "Now, let's pop this sucker open and see what's inside."

Together, the adults opened the box, both expecting to find an antique Colt and five or six bullets. What they found was an empty case that had obviously once held the prized gun and magical bullets.

"Where is it?" Sammy asked, standing on his tiptoes to see into the box.

"It's gone," Sam replied, "someone took it. Elkins?"

"Dude," Dean began, pointing to a corner of the room, "I don't think it was Elkins."

The body of the vampire hunter was slumped over in the corner, blood still dripping from his mouth. His grey shirt was covered in the crimson liquid, as if his heart had burst through his skin. Unfortunately, Sam recognized the injuries all too well. They were eerily similar to the ones his big brother had sustained in their last encounter with the demon that had taken their mother.

Just as Sam was about to point out the nature of the man's injuries, something clinked onto the table behind him. It sounded like something big, heavy, and metal being set lightly on the wood.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered as he and the rest of the group whirled around.

John Winchester stood in the middle of the room, hand resting on an old table on which he'd set the loaded Colt. He smiled as his eyes turned a sickly shade of yellow. "Daddy's home," he sneered as adults and children went flying through the room to connect with the walls.

* * *

He'd hit his head. That was the first thing that Dean Winchester was aware of. It was a dull pain, really nothing compared to some of the injuries he'd sustained in the past. The second thing he was aware of was the noise, like a soft whisper, over and over in his mind. He was sure it was a memory, his little brother's voice. 

"Daddy got turned into a yellow-eyed monster. Don't let him kill us. Please, don't let him kill us."

But it wasn't a memory, because the boy hadn't asked for protection when he was safe in the motel room, he had just stated the facts. And that was when Dean realized that he hadn't hit his head. The odd pain was his brother's fault, the little psychic six-year-old who didn't know who else to turn to. Of course, the kid had wormed his way into Dean's head.

"I won't," Dean moaned, trying to turn his head to find the kid, "just stop, please. It hurts." The noise in his mind died down as he spotted the kids, pinned by an invisible force to the opposite wall, staring at him with pleading eyes. Sam was pinned up next to him. The demon was nowhere to be seen.

"Jake got to it first. He told it where to find the gun," Sam muttered, "it tricked us."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, so why isn't it gloating?"

As if on cue, the demon wandered back into the room. "You know, boys," it said, grinning with John's mouth, "I thought you'd be smarter than this. I mean, after everything my son told me, I figured you'd put up more of a fight. Still, though, it'll be fun to kill the four of you. Or is it two? This whole time travel thing's a real pain in the ass, you know."

"Why?" Sam asked, "why kill the kids? Why kill us? Jake must have told you what you did in the future. Must have explained that our father's dead and we're no closer to finding you than we were the night mom died. So why do this?"

The demon smirked, walking up to Sam and facing him. "Because it's fun," it breathed, "because I want these kids to see you die. I want them to know that their lives will never amount to anything."

"You're wrong," the ten-year-old called out, "we'll get out. We'll find a way to send you right on back to Hell!"

Still grinning maniacally, the demon turned to face the boy, scooting him up the wall so it could meet his hazel eyes with its own yellow ones. "Cocky," it said coolly, "I like that in a victim. You wanna know a secret kid? Your brother isn't the only one that can see the future. I can, too. And you know what I see about you? You're gonna die alone. No one in the world to care or mourn. No one will even know you're gone."

"That's impossible," Dean shouted out, desperate to tear the demon away from the already-fragile boy he knew he had been, "if you're going to kill us all together, then he won't be dying alone."

The Big Bad turned again, its smile fading, to face Dean. "He will, because I'm going to make him watch you and your brother, and little Sammy there die. Then, I'm gonna take him out into the woods, and slaughter him. As he lays dying, I'll walk away. I don't want to watch pathetic scum like that die. It seems a total waste that he was even allowed to roam this Earth."

It turned on its heels back towards the children, who were watching with bated breath. "You here that, son?" it asked, staring straight at the elder of the two, "I don't even care enough to watch you die. I _never_ cared. Not about _you_, anyway."

"Stop it," Sammy yelled, the sound echoing through their heads, "you don't mean it and you're not my dad!"

"Little snot," the demon hissed, turning its yellow gaze on the small boy, "you'll pay." It approached the child, intent upon killing him, wanting badly to taste his young blood. But that would have to wait. He would have to weaken the boy's will first. "You little freak. No one _normal _could ever want a freak like you, you know that, right? You'll never get that house and that family and that dog you want. No apple pie for Sammy."

The boy didn't hear the scathing words, he was too busy listening to the instructions racing through his mind. He nodded slightly, a sign that he'd heard the plan, that he understood what he had to do. He knew it would tear his family apart, but it was the only way left.

"Boys," Dean announced, glancing over at his brother and nodding as if they had a plan, "close your eyes."

The Colt flew off the table it had been resting on, floating in midair as the demon turned to face it. Yellow eyes flashed towards the tall man it had pinned to the wall as the trigger was pulled by an invisible force and a bullet that could kill anything raced through John Winchester's brain.

The hunter's body shuddered for a moment as a bolt of electricity went through it. Finally, John's limp form fell to the ground and the group fell to the floor with a thud.

Dean was the first one up. He staggered to his feet and stepped over the body, grabbing both children by the shoulders and leading them, eyes still closed, out of the room.

Sam just stared down at his father as the gun fell from the air and clattered onto the floor. He hadn't done that, hadn't made the gun float, hadn't pulled the trigger, but he'd recognized the little voice in his head begging him not to tell his brother. Even if he wasn't sure _how_, Sam was sure he'd done it. A six-year-old freak had just murdered his father.


	14. Chapter 14

You guys are gonna hate me for the end of this chapter, because I probably won't be able to update for a while. Just hang in there, though, I promise it WILL get updated. After this one, only two chapters left, so you guys are gonna have to tell me if you want to read the sequel. :)

* * *

Sam joined them in the Impala, which had been hidden behind the cabin, and saw that the youngest boy had been crying. The ten-year-old had called shotgun, and sat quietly, staring out the window, as his adult counterpart sat in the back, trying to comfort the killer.

"Where to now?" Sam asked quietly.

"Back to Topeka," Dean said, "we'll leave the car, drop the kids off, and then you can head home to your girlfriend."

"Dean-"

"Don't. Whatever you've got waiting for you now, I'm sure you deserve it. Let's just get out of here, huh?"

"Dean, how-"

"Just start the car, Sam," Dean muttered, glaring at his brother, "I'll tell you later. Just don't talk about it."

* * *

The room was just as they'd left it, crummy and smelly. But it was the closest thing to a home they had. Besides, Topeka was where the wormhole was located. Where else would they go? 

The kids had been sent to bed after a long drive, and the adults sat out in the living room, staring at a blank TV.

"The little one did it, didn't he?" Sam finally asked.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "he did. I told him to. There was no other way."

"Great," Sam sighed, "so I'm telepathic now, too."

"That's the least of our worries," Dean muttered, "what's gonna happen to us? What're the kids gonna do? Sammy, we _orphaned_ ourselves today."

Sam just shook his head. "I know. I figure that before we leave we can make a call. Child Services can come and pick up the kids, put them in Foster Care, find a nice family for them."

"No. Absolutely not."

"What? Why?"

Dean turned to look at his brother, and Sam saw something like fear fighting for control of the older man's face. "Do you know what can happen to siblings in Foster Care, Sam? They can get separated. Those kids already lost their dad, I'm not going to make them lose each other, too. We're all we have now, man. We've gotta stick together."

Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled. "That's not gonna happen. They won't separate us, Dean."

"They won't have a choice. You really think anyone would want a kid like me? I'm so messed up that even _I_ know I'm messed up. I mean, that kid saw both of his parents die, Sam. He was trained to kill. He's cocky, he's overconfident, he's trouble.

"_You_, on the other hand, have always been after normalcy. _You_ weren't as messed up as I was. Someone will take you in a heartbeat. They'll adopt you, you'll have a nice house, a good family. What'll I have? Tons of Foster families and even more issues than I've got now. I've thought about this, Sam. I used to do it a lot when dad left for big hunts. It always turned out the same for me. I never got a home."

"But that's not really going to happen," Sam said, "I won't let them take me unless they take you, too."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, "because that's not what you did when Stanford came knocking. If you want something bad enough, you'll go after it. Never mind me."

Sam sighed. "We'll talk to the kids, then, we'll figure something out."

"You know you won't listen. You'll leave. We could take them to Pastor Jim, though, and he could keep them together."

"The wormhole could close," Sam pointed out, "let's take our chances with Foster Care."

Dean shook his head. "I'd rather take my chances with the wormhole."

Sam finally tore his gaze from his brothers, anger rising sickeningly within him. "We're leaving them with professionals, Dean. You'll get the therapy you need, and someone will adopt you. We'll have good lives. That's the plan."

"Whatever," Dean said, standing up and walking toward the door, "do what you want, man. I'm going for a walk. Check on the kids while I'm gone. Make sure they're really asleep."

Sam nodded as his brother left, the anger that had risen so suddenly finally ebbing away. Sighing, he got up off the couch and headed toward the bedroom. He opened the door a crack and peeked in.

Dean was sitting on his bed, staring vacantly at his sleeping brother, obviously lost in thought. Sam slipped into the room and sat down beside the kid. "Can't sleep?"

Dean shrugged. "Why should I? It's probably gonna be my last night with my brother. I just wanna remember him."

"What makes you think this is the last time you'll be together?" Sam asked.

"Because dad's gone. We don't have anyone anymore. It's just us, and we can't legally be alone. They'll come and they'll take us. They'll put him somewhere nice and warm and safe, and I'll get dumped with some psychiatrist. He'll get a family. I'll get a shrink. The worst part is that I'll never see him again after he gets adopted."

"You really think they'll split you up like that?" Sam asked. The boy nodded sadly. "Who told you that?"

"Dad."

Sam sighed, standing up and walking to the door. _Of course._ He looked back at the boy, who was looking at him with those familiar, haunter hazel eyes. Suddenly, Sam didn't see a kid anymore, he didn't see his brother. He saw a puppet, a puppet too stupid to know that John Winchester had been pulling its strings since 1983, a puppet that had no idea yet how screwed up it was. "He lied."

Dean looked shocked. "Why would he do that? Why would dad lie to me?"

The adult just looked at him, wanting nothing more than to grab him and shake him. The kid may have figured out who he and his brother really were, but when it came to matters of their father he was a complete blockhead.

"I don't know," Sam hissed, "maybe he did it because he hates you. Maybe he did it because he knew how stupid you are and wanted to scare the shit out of you. But it was probably because he hates you, just like he always will.

"You wanna know why you're a disappointment to him, kid? It's because you follow his every order without an ounce of resistance. It's because you have no life of your own, because he can manipulate you so easily. _I'm_ the favored son, and it's all because I can actually _think_."

The boy just stared back at him, face set and determined, eyes brimming with tears. _Ha,_ Sam thought, _that shut him up._

"Don't worry," Dean whispered after a long pause, "I'll raise you right this time. You won't be mean."

Finally, Sam had had enough. He lunged at the boy, grabbing him by the front of his worn shirt and pulling him roughly into the air, holding him at eye-level. "Why, you little-"

"Sam."

The hunter whirled around to find his brother standing in the doorway, watching him.

"Why don't you go outside," the shorter man suggested, "get some air. I'll put him back in bed."

Shaking, Sam looked back at the kid he was holding in the air, the kid who was having obvious problems breathing. Suddenly realizing what he'd done, the hunter dropped the boy onto the ground and moved past his brother.

"How long were you watching?" he asked softly.

"Long enough," Dean replied, a note of disgust in his voice, as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

The good news is that I decided to post another chapter today. The bad news is that it's a short chapter. The next update's the last, so I hope you're ready for a shocker!

* * *

"You know," Dean began as the kid slid back onto a sitting position on the bed, "you don't hear this enough, so I'm going to tell you now and I want you to remember it. I'm proud of you."

"For what?" the boy asked uncertainly as the man knelt down on the floor in front of him.

"For being so brave through all of this. I know you're scared, and I know what dad said, but he's not here right now. Your brother's asleep and mine's not here, so, come on. Just this once." Dean opened his arms, sighing as the boy jumped off the bed and ran into them, wrapping his own slender arms around the man's neck.

"I don't know what to do," the boy sobbed as the tears he'd been holding back for so long finally won out over his control and came flowing freely from his eyes, "I don't want to mess up. I want you to be happy."

"I will be," Dean said, stroking the boy's hair as his own tears began to flow, "whatever you do, it'll be all right in my book."

"I miss daddy."

"I know. I do, too."

The boy pulled away, wiping his nose and eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "Tell me what to do. I don't want to loose Sammy. I don't care what I have to do, I want to stay together. I wanna be a family."

"I know you do," Dean said, swiping at his own eyes and he set the boy back on the bed, "and I have a plan. Tomorrow morning, the first thing you do after we leave, come here and pack up. Take Sammy and run."

The kid shook his head. "Dad was our only family left. We don't have anywhere to run to."

"You do," Dean said, "but not one of dad's friends. Stay away from them. If the cops find out about them, they'll search the house. You need to go to someone he didn't see often. You need to take your brother and head back to Lawrence."

"No. It's bad there. Mom died there. I can't go back."

"You have to," Dean said urgently, taking the boy's shoulders, "there's a psychic there, Missouri Mosley. She knew dad, and she'll be able to help. You don't even have to tell her what's wrong or why you're running. She'll know. Trust her. Go there and at least you'll be together. She can help."

"You're sure?" the boy sobbed, "she'll let us stay together?"

Dean nodded. "She will. Just follow the road signs and keep your brother close. Take a couple of the guns. Be careful. Um, take care of yourself, all right, kid? Take care of your brother."

"I will," the kid nodded, smiling weakly before wrapping his arms around Dean's neck again. He buried his face in the adult's jacket and began to cry again. "I'm so scared."

"Don't be," Dean comforted, "everything's going to be all right, just as soon as you get to Lawrence."

"I wish you were my dad," the boy sobbed, hugging the man tighter, as if letting go might make him disappear forever.

"I wish I was, too," Dean confessed, laying his head on the boy's shoulder and sobbing with him as Sam watched, unnoticed, through the slightly open door.


	16. Chapter 16

Wow. The final chapter. The moment we've all been waiting for. The ending of an era. Trsut me, this ios the end that you guys didn't see coming :)

Now, keep an eye open for the sequel, "Closing Doors," up here soon. I've been told it's crazy, but nowhere near as confusing as this one (of course, one other person has read it, so...)

Thanks again to everyone who read and (especially) reviewed. I've said it before and I'll say it agaon, reviews keep me writing. So, I'll see you next time.

* * *

The group of four, two adults and two children, stood in front of the gallows exhibit, staring at the plaque. They weren't even sure the wormhole was still open, just knew that they should say their good-byes and hope for the best.

The youngest member of the group, a small boy with shaggy hair, was content with staring at the exhibit as the everyone mustered the courage to say their farewells. The next oldest was jumpy, nervous, tense, his stomach in knots as he waited for the time when he would run. The next oldest just wanted to get back, wanted to see his girlfriend, need to smell her perfume, to feel her touch.

Dean was the first to say good-bye. His brother was waiting, and he never kept Sam waiting long. His life had been all about making the younger man happy, and he knew that going back to a life with a girlfriend was what he wanted most.

The oldest member of the group had stayed up the whole night, thinking over his plan. He knew that sending two kids on a journey like the one he'd proposed could be dangerous. He also knew that his brother wouldn't like growing up on the run just as much as he'd hated hunting. So, Dean had devised a plan. It was a good one, and he hadn't even told himself about it. He wanted to see the look on the kid's face, knowing it would surpass the one of joy that had come from seeing the basketball.

"Come on, Man," Sam urged, "I want to see what happened. I want to see Jess."

"You go ahead," Dean smirked, not leaving his spot by the kids, "I'll catch up in about 17 years."

"What?" Sam asked.

"You heard me," Dean said, "I'm not going back. I want to stay here."

Sam's mouth dropped open as he stood beside the plaque. "You're kidding."

Dean shook his head, aware of both of the children staring up at him with wide, joyful eyes. "Really?" the oldest asked, "you want to stay with us?"

The hunter looked down, finding the expression he'd been hoping for. Unbridled joy. It was a look he'd never seen on his face before, in any time period. "Yeah," he smiled, "I'm really gonna stay here. You guys need a guardian."

"You can't," Sam argued, "It'll screw up the timeline."

"Look," Dean sighed, turning to his brother, "it's over, Sam. The demon's gone. It's not coming back. Remember what you asked me in Chicago, about what I wanted when this thing was finally over? Well, this is it. I want us to be a family, Sam, a real family."

Sam shook his head. "You can't do it, Dean. You can't mess up my life. I won't let you."

"Mess up your life? You really think I'd do that? Sam, I just want to keep our family together. This is the only way I can do that now. If I do this, we all go home happy. We'll have what we've always wanted. We'll have a normal family."

"Please," the freckle-faced kid pleaded, "don't make him go. I want this."

"Me, too," the youngest kid smiled, "don't take him away."

Sam just stared at them. "You really want to put him in charge of your wellbeing? All right. I just hope you know what you're in for, Dean, because raising kids isn't easy."

"I know," his brother replied, "I raised you, didn't I?"

"I mean it. One day we're gonna grow up and we're gonna get lives of our own. You'll have to let us go some day."

"I realize that," Dean nodded, "but that day's a long way off. Now, you should probably be getting to your bright future before that wormhole closes, huh?"

"You're serious?"

Dean smirked, putting one hand on each boy's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm serious. Now go. I'll see you on the other side."

Slowly, Sam nodded. He took one last look at his big brother before jumping into the wormhole, where he was met by cool air and an uncomfortable twist of his stomach muscles. He felt himself falling for maybe half a second before he hit the ground hard.

Sam sat up, moaning deep in his throat and rubbing his head. He looked around. He was back in the courthouse, sitting beside the gallows exhibit, and a large lump was forming on then back of his head.

"Sammy! You all right man? You trip?"

Sam looked up at his brother as the man held out a hand to help him up. "Dean?" he asked, rubbing at his head again, "how? I thought you stayed behind?"

"At the church?" Dean asked, "why would I do that? Dad told me to bring you out here."

"Dad?" Sam asked, beginning to wonder about his brother's sanity and the fact that Dean's hair had grown a few inches, "dad's dead."

"Um, _John's_ dead," Dean offered, "dad's back at the church with everyone else. Why he sent us out here, I'll never know, but, uh, we should probably be heading back. Wouldn't want to miss your own rehearsal dinner, would we?"

"Rehearsal dinner?" Sam asked.

"All right," Dean sighed, "you hit your head. You have amnesia. That's great, man, and the week of your wedding, too. If Jess finds out I let this happen, she'll have my head, I swear. Dad'll probably take the rest of me. Come on, let's get you to the truck, back to the church. Maybe dad can help."

"Dean, dad's _dead_. And what about a truck? What happened to the Impala?"

Dean smirked. "Yeah, right. Like dad's gonna let me anywhere _near_ that car. You really hit your head hard, didn't you?"

Dean led Sam out of the courthouse and to a shining white pick-up. Sam just sat back and let the scenery fly by as his brother drove him in an unfamiliar car through Topeka Kansas.

* * *

"Please fill me in," Sam begged his brother as Dean practically pulled him up the cement path that led to the chapel where the wedding party was apparently meeting. 

"Don't worry," Dean assured, "I'm sure that seeing your beautiful bride-to-be will be enough to jog those memories back into place. And, if that doesn't do it, I'm sure dad can help."

"Dean, dad's dead. Who am I marrying? Why are we here? When did your hair get so long?"

Dean turned to look at him as the doors leading into the church opened and a lovely blonde woman wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt walked out. "There you are," she smiled, walking up to Sam and kissing him on the cheek, "we've been waiting forever. You guys need to play mediators. Your dad and Jim are at each other's throats again."

"Jessica?" Sam asked, staring at her, "is that really you?"

"Who else would it be?" she asked, glancing nervously at Dean.

"Sammy tripped and hit his head," the elder explained, "I think he forgot some pretty important stuff. Like, that dad's alive and you're his fiancée. I was thinking maybe dad could tell us if we need to postpone the wedding or-"

"No," Sam interrupted, still staring at his future wife, "I want to go through with the wedding. I still remember how much I love her."

Jess sighed and wrapped her arms around Sam as Dean made a gagging noise. "Come on, dude," the shorter brother practically begged, tugging on Sam's arm, "there won't be a wedding if dad bites Pastor Jim's head off."

"Pastor Jim?" Sam asked, "he's alive, too?"

"Why wouldn't he be?' Jessica questioned as she followed the boys into the church. Sam didn't get a chance to answer as his brother ran down the aisle toward two men who were deep in conversation.

"Dad!" he yelled, "Sam fell and hit his head. I think he has amnesia or something. He said you, Jim, and Jess were all dead. Weird, huh?"

Slowly, the form that Dean had run to turned around to face the soon-to-be-newlyweds. Sam gasped. He recognized the man in the leather jacket, whose hands were shoved in his pockets. It was his brother, though older than he should have been. A network of shallow lines had wormed its way across the man's face, and his hair had started to go gray. His eyes, apparently, weren't what they had been, as a pair of glasses rested upon his thin nose. But it was Dean. That smirk was unmistakable.

No sooner had the man turned and Sam registered who it was, then a crippling headache struck the youngest Winchester. Images began flashing before his eyes, memories of a life that he hadn't known he could have. An apartment, a dog, a brother who had gone to college, a father who couldn't be prouder, a sister-in-law, a girlfriend, a niece and nephew. He'd been happy. They all had. The money had been tight, the life had been hard, but they were together and happy.

The headache passed and Sam found himself staring into concerned hazel eyes. "Hey, Future Boy," Dean whispered, the wrinkles by his eyes deepening as he smiled, "glad to have you back."

* * *

"How?" Sam asked as soon as they'd left the church behind them under the pretense that he was stressed about his coming nuptials and needed some air, "how'd you pull it off without anyone finding out?" 

"Don't you remember?" Dean asked as they walked across the parking lot to where the Impala had been parked.

"A little," Sam admitted, "fragments. Not enough, though. How'd you even get to keep us?"

Dean smirked. "Why, Samuel, are you telling me that you don't even recognize your own uncle Dean? Your mother's long-lost brother who happened to show up right after your crazy father shot himself? I'm surprised."

"Ok, you lied about who you were, but someone had to have called it, Dean."

The older man shrugged. "No one questioned it. Sure, it was lucky for you guys, pulling a relative out of nowhere like that, and it took a while to convince people that your father had really left you in my care in his will, but no one asked."

"But, the apartment, how'd you afford it? Taking care of us, paying for food and school supplies, how'd you do it?"

"I got a job," he grinned, "an honest job. It's shocking, I know, but true. I, uh, spent my days working in a Day Care center. It paid the bills, with a little help from some of dad's old friends."

"So you _did_ tell people who you were."

"Just Jim. He wanted to make sure you boys were safe. Dad had helped a lot of people, saved some lives, and they owed him, so when his brother-in-law called asking for a little child support, they sent it."

"And we both went to college?"

"You to Stanford and Dean to the University of Missouri. That's where he met his wife, Cassie. They've got two kids, Jonathan and Elaine. They're six and four. And you're about to get married, my friend."

"Why here?" Sam asked, "you knew I'd be coming back, didn't you?"

Dean smiled. "Of course I knew. Besides, it's a beautiful place to have a wedding."

For a while they stood beside the old car, letting the slight breeze blow around them. Sam stared at the man that had raised him, marveling at how well he had aged. "So," he began, "did all of that future knowledge of yours come in handy?"

"Well," Dean smirked, "I made a killing betting on who would win 'American Idol' and 'Survivor,' was nice enough to warn your first girlfriend about the gay NSyncer, made a couple of anonymous phone calls in early September a few years back that nobody listened to, and gave away the ending of every M. Night Shyamalan movie to date. Yeah, it's had its advantages."

"And there wasn't anything or anyone you missed?"

"Actually, there was. You. The grown-up you, anyway."

"Wow," Sam marveled, "that's uncharacteristically sentimental of you, Dean."

"Yeah, well," the older man replied, smirking, "it would have been a little easier to raise those kids with you around. They really could have used a mother's touch."

"Yeah?" Sam countered, "well you're old."

"Don't sass me," Dean warned, "you're not too old for me to bend over my knee and spank, sonny. I'll do it in front of your girlfriend, too."

Grinning, they walked back toward the church, side-by-side. "Seventeen years," Sam marveled, "and you really raised us?'

"Best I could," Dean replied, opening the door and ushering his son in, "and I think I did all right. I mean, it's not like you're sporting a pink Mohawk or anything. And you don't hate me, either. You both picked up on calling me dad right away."

"That might take some getting used to," Sam grinned as he and his father joined the rest of the wedding party. The younger Winchester brother sighed, looking around at his perfect life, his happy ending, and knew that his brother had been right to stay behind and change things. The man had opened doors for his sons that Sam had never thought he'd even see. Finally, his life was exactly what he'd always wanted it to be.

* * *

Told you you wouldn't see it coming! Now, how's this gonna work out for Sam? What changes have been made? How's everyone changed? And... did I say Sammy had a neice and nephew! Can't wait to start posting the sequel! 


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